


Eloquence

by unsettled



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-16
Updated: 2010-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarrant remains an itch he cannot seem to rid himself of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eloquence

Ilosovic is new to the white queen's court, and still dazzled by the brilliance of it all. It's nothing like what they whispered about at home. Everything is pristine and glowing and elegant, every gesture pure eloquence, every word softly spoken and full of kindness. He knows he is still rough, still causing shivers in the calm of any room he walks into, but his friends tell him he improves daily. He may never be a match to them, to the ones born to this, but he hope he may at least acquire a degree of their serene beauty.

There are some at court that make no effort to temper their passions, to replace wildness with mystery. Tarrant Hightopp is the worst, his hair and clothes and hats and very speech all tuned to discord. Ilosovic thinks he is disgusting, is everything this court is not, and grits his teeth every time he hears that burred voice. It is beyond him why such a character is so highly thought of, and Tarrant remains an itch he cannot seem to rid himself of.

He is walking down one of the pale hallways, trying hard to be serene and graceful, making each step a smooth glide, when his concentration is shattered by a noise, something like a giggle, something like a groan. He steps forward, and it comes again, around the corner. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he turns the corner to confront the noisemakers.

One of the white knaves has Tarrant pushed up against the wall, a pale hand sliding down his flushed torso, dark mouth teasing the skin of Tarrant's neck, nipping the hollow of his throat. Tarrant is rosy against the pale stone and skin, his hair a vermillion smear across his shoulders, his face turned flat against the wall, eyes closed and brilliant mouth opened, moaning. Ilosovic makes a sound, his breath rushing out of him at the sight of them, and Tarrant opens his eyes towards him, lime and lemonade drowning black, and he isn't seeing Ilosovic at all. The knave doesn't even notice, and Ilosovic backs away two short steps before he turns and flees, nothing elegant about him.

He runs until there are familiar walls around him, leans against the closed door of his room. His mind is full of flaming hair and flushed cheeks and rosy skin against black lips, and he has never wanted anything so much. He wants him more than elegance and serenity, more than grace and eloquence. Tarrant would be fire in his blood, and he is shocked that he would give up so much for someone who is everything he doesn't want.

The next day, Tarrant will wink at him, shirt opened to show off the swollen mark at his throat, and Ilosovic will blush; but he will not run away.


End file.
